


Counterpointe

by SereneVenus



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: #MeToo, A/U, Abusive Workplace Culture, Angst, Artistic Legacies of Heinous Criminals, Ballet, Criminal Trials vs. Restorative Justice, Dark moments, Depression, Disordered Eating, Episode: s05e10 Counterpoint, Explicit Language, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Many more characters than could be tagged, PTSD symptoms, Romance, Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Thoughts, Taking Liberties with Character Backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-22 00:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30030498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SereneVenus/pseuds/SereneVenus
Summary: Kathryn is Delta Ballet Theatre’s prima ballerina. Chakotay is the company’s senior pianist. What will become of their budding romance when Kashyk, a world-renowned choregrapher, arrives in town to set a new ballet on Kathryn?Chapter 1 is sweet, romantic, and completely consensual J/C, E-rated only for the ending. After that, please heed the warnings and tags.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway, Kathryn Janeway/Kashyk
Comments: 29
Kudos: 48





	1. Partnering

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I’d write an A/U, and I never imagined I’d see these particular worlds colliding in a fanfic. But here goes. 
> 
> Vaguely, I imagined this fic taking place in early twenty-first century New York. However, there are no specific place markers in the story, so it could be any major city in the temperate zone of the Northern Hemisphere (so that the description of the seasons matches up with the months). There are some Star Trek-related fictional place-names.
> 
> I really like fics where Alynna is a good guy. Alas, this is not one of them. And I had to properly Russianize her last name. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to the authors of all the breathtaking Counterpoint fics out there. It is a treasure trove, though not for the faint of heart. I, for one, will never be the same again. Thank you.

One balmy May day, Chakotay walked into Talaxia, the diner across the street from the Cosmic Theater, and eased into his usual barstool.

“How’re you this morning, Chakotay?” Neelix asked cheerily from behind the counter, pouring him a cup of coffee.

“Just fine, Neelix, and yourself?”

Before he could answer, a familiar, gravelly voice piped up behind Chakotay’s shoulder. “Good morning, Neelix.”

“ ‘Morning, Kathryn. Same as yesterday?” Neelix poured another cup.

“And the day before.” Her soft auburn hair fell loose around her shoulders, her street clothes were rumpled, and her face was devoid of makeup. To Chakotay she looked ravishing.

“Good morning, Chakotay.”

“Good morning, Kathryn. I’ve never seen you in here for breakfast, and yet it sounds like you’re already a regular.”

She sighed. “I set my oven on fire trying to make a roast this weekend. Serves me right, I should stay in my lane. Breakfast is all I can really cook, and now I have to have Neelix make it for me. I order takeout most of the time.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“That my oven died or that I can’t cook?”

“Both.” They chuckled, long accustomed to each other’s humor, as Neelix brought Kathryn scrambled eggs and toast and Chakotay a bowl of oatmeal and some fruit.

“You’re playing class today?”

“Sure am.”

“Excellent.” She beamed her irresistible smile at him.

“Are you on tonight?”

“Yes, _Duck Pond_.”

“I hate that all you dancers call it that. _Swan Lake_ is an incredible ballet. Tchaikovsky’s score is glorious.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t disagree. But it’s one of the hardest ballets to dance, for everyone involved. Especially Odette-Odile. The nickname dissipates performance anxiety.”

It was Chakotay’s turn to roll his eyes. “If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Who’s your partner tonight?” 

“Tuvok.”

He lowered his voice and leaned into her. “Between us, do you prefer dancing with him or Tom?”

She laughed. “They’re both wonderful partners. Tuvok’s technique is flawless and he’s the most reliable partner I’ve ever had. Tom is more of a risk-taker, so we often have growing pains when we start working on a new piece, but by tech week we’re always on a roll.”

Tuvok usually headlined with Annika Hansen, while Tom Paris was most often paired with B’Elanna Torres, his wife. The four of them and Kathryn were Delta Ballet Theatre’s most senior prinicpal dancers.

Kathryn had burned through several partners over the last several years. Jay Jaffen, her most recent partner, was now at Quarra Dance Company. The one before that, Michael Sullivan, had moved on to Fairhaven Ballet. And before that, John Q had left to dance with his wife, Suzie Q, at the Ballet Continuum. For now, Tom and Tuvok were doing extra duty by partnering Kathryn as well as their regular partners.

It wasn’t Kathryn’s fault her partners kept leaving the company. She was an exceptional dancer, driven, a born perfectionist, but also kind, generous, and humble to a fault. Any great male dancer worth his salt would be honored to dance with her, as her former partners were.

It was Alynna Necheyeva, the Artistic Director of Delta Ballet Theatre, who drove them away. She’d flirt shamelessly with them and infantalize them in front of everyone, and after a few months or a few years, they’d flee, disgusted. She’d developed a bad reputation, but Delta was one of the top companies in the world. Until the day she stepped down, she’d always have her pick of _danseurs nobles_ to torment.

As Kathryn ate quietly, sensing Chakotay’s gentle, warm presence by her side, she reflected that though her partners came and went, Chakotay was always there, had always been there. They’d both attended the Conservatory around the same time (though they hadn’t really known each other then; music and dance students lived completely separate lives). Chakotay surged to the top of his class, won a couple of international competitions, and everyone assumed he’d quickly become a jet-setting concert pianist. But he stayed home to care for his grandfather, whose chronic debilitating illness took ten years after Chakotay’s graduation to finally take his life. Not once had anyone ever heard Chakotay complain about the enormous sacrifice he’d made. He’d carved out a respectable career playing occasional solo concerts around the city and sometimes nationally and abroad, churning out an album or two every several years, and giving private lessons – but playing for the ballet company was his bread and butter.

He’d started playing for the company part-time while studying at the Conservatory, as a way to make money to cover his grandfather’s medical expenses, and discovered that he was good at it, and even liked it. He looked forward to creating synergy with the dancers, who turned out to be the most attentive music listeners he’d ever met. The company knew they were blessed to have a world-class pianist accompanying them day in and day out. They adored him, constantly showered him with affection, and considered him one of their own.

In her heart of hearts, Kathryn considered Chakotay her truest and best partner. She was energized every time he played company class. They’d joke around beforehand and afterward would often trade playlists of their favorite music or compare notes on the symphonies and operas they’d listened to on the radio the night before.

In rehearsal, he knew all her tempi by heart, and could often interpret the music to emphasize her strengths before she even thought to ask. When rehearsals moved to the theater and involved the orchestra, conductors expected Chakotay to quietly take them aside and give them extensive notes about her preferences. True, he gave them notes on all the dancers, but the ones for Kathryn were always the most detailed, and he always went to bat for her more unusual choices.

Thanks to his pedigree and the dancers’ utter devotion to him, Chakotay also often accompanied them in performance when lengthy piano solos were involved. Most recently, he’d played the solo for “Rubies,” the middle section of Balanchine’s _Jewels_ , set to Stravinsky’s audacious “Capriccio.” At the bows, Chakotay would come up from the pit, always dapper in his tux and tails, and Kathryn took special delight in taking his hands and pulling him out of the wings to receive the audience’s rapturous applause. She knew her stage makeup looked absurd up close, but hoped he could tell from her expression in those moments how much she adored his performances, how much they made her own possible.

They’d known each other for twenty years. He’d watched her shoot up through the ranks and grow more confident and daring in every role she’d danced. She’d listened to him mature from a precocious upstart to a heart-stopping virtuoso. Their friendship had always been laced with flirtation and an unspoken attraction between them, but more importantly they shared a special kind of intimacy only possible between two old souls whose long collaboration has shaped their artistry in countless ways.

Yet they’d never spent much time together outside the studio or the theater, and certainly not one-on-one. Sometimes he’d come along with the dancers to Neelix’s for dinner after a performance, and every year or so she’d attend one of his concerts, but always in the company of other dancers.

She wondered if he was lonely. She knew he and his last girlfriend, Seska, a beautiful soprano and horrendous diva, had broken up about year ago. He hadn’t seemed particularly heartbroken, as if his desire to be with her had faded long before their relationship ended. Kathryn had a sudden longing to reach out to him, the kind of longing suited to a romantic evening, not an happenstance breakfast between colleagues.

While Kathryn wondered silently about the state of Chakotay’s heart, and her own, he supposed she was focusing inward in preparation for the demanding performance that awaited her that evening. To pass the time, he ran through a mental checklist of the pieces he was planning to play for class. They sat in companionable silence until she finished her third cup of coffee.

“Shall we go?”

“How can you drink that much coffee before class?"

“That’s nothing. I’ll sweat it out by the end of barre.”

Chakotay laughed and held the door for her as they waved goodbye to Neelix.

*

DBT had just begun its residence at the Cosmic for a grueling twelve-week spring-summer run. Kathryn and Chakotay continued to arrive for breakfast at about the same time every morning. As a principal dancer, she only performed two or three times a week, but she always took morning class with the company – to set an example, she said. Not that either of them would ever admit to it, but they began arriving earlier and earlier to have more time to talk. One morning their stools were occupied, so they sat in a booth in the corner and suddenly it was “their” booth; Neelix wouldn’t let anyone else sit there until they’d come and gone.

To Chakotay’s delight, he learned something new about Kathryn every day, which was all the more astonishing considering they’d known each other so long. Perhaps most important among the new facts he’d absorbed was that Mark Johnson, her former fiancé, some kind of scientist, had left her for a co-worker about a year ago, about the same time Chakotay and Seska had split. Mark had said that Kathryn didn’t have any time for him, was always too engrossed in her work. She told Chakotay that the infidelity was a terrible blow, but in retrospect, it was for the best; they’d been childhood friends, and Mark realized before she did that they took a step too far when they ventured into romance.

Chakotay remembered, of course, when Justin Tighe, Kathryn’s first partner and first fiancé, died in a car crash with her father fifteen years ago, when she and Justin were soloists in the company; Kathryn had sustained multiple injuries. Chakotay went to the funeral and brought Kathryn flowers. She thanked him with vacant eyes, her skin wan against her black dress, her sister pushing her around in a wheelchair. That was the last anyone saw or heard of her for six months. She recuperated at her mother’s house in Indiana, and when she came back she worked with a vengeance and was promoted to principal the next year.

He worried to himself, with a rush of sadness that overwhelmed him, that after those two experiences she’d probably never allow herself to get engaged again. _So much the worse for me_ , he thought as he suddenly realized the true depth of his affection for her.

When he arrived for breakfast one day, Kathryn was typing furiously on her phone.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Happy Birthday!”

“Thank you. I’m just trying to respond to all the good wishes on my social media accounts.”

“Doesn’t the company employ someone to do that for you?”

“Yes, but they flag the ones from people who need a more personal response. Donors, critics, celebrities, you know.”

“I see.”

She shoved her phone into the depths of her bag. “I’m done for now. I’ll get to the rest after class.”

Neelix brought their breakfast and gave them each an encouraging pat on the shoulder before returning behind the counter. Chakotay noticed Kathryn pouting at her eggs.

“Are you going to do anything to celebrate?”

“Yes,” she sighed, pouting harder, “I’m going to take a long hot bath after the show.”

“Kathryn, you don’t seem particularly happy for a birthday girl.”

She was actually very happy watching his mouth open and close around his strawberries, wondering what it would feel like to have him do the same to her lips and her body, and was staring at her food so he wouldn’t notice her watching him. She forced herself to meet his eyes evenly. “I am happy, Chakotay. It’s just that, well, I’m forty. I’ve been with the company for twenty years, my entire professional life. It’s been a good run, but it’s taken its toll and I need to start thinking concretely about retirement.”

“How do you feel about that?”

She looked down at her food again, pouting for real this time. “I’m sad. I’ve been preparing myself for this eventuality, and I know it’s time, but it’s hard to let go. My identity’s been wrapped up in dance for as long as I can remember.” She raised her eyes to him, her face brightening. “But I have a plan. I’m going back to school, to study astrophysics and biology.”

“Really? I had no idea you were interested in the sciences.”

“Oh, yes. When I was a child, I would spend all day looking at slides under a microscope, and all night looking through my telescope at the moon and the stars.”

“What will you do after college?”

“A double doctorate. I’d like to become a zero-gravity biologist.”

Chakotay’s eyes grew wide. “You’re full of surprises today.”

“My goal is to run zero-gravity experiments to develop treatments for currently incurable illnesses.” Kathryn stared at her breakfast again and added in a low voice, “My mom has Parkinson’s. They’re already working on some promising drugs up there.”

He covered her hand with his own. “That’s a noble cause.”

“It’s a personal cause.”

Chakotay sat back and smiled slowly. “I think I see your career arc here. You’ve defied gravity as a dancer, and now you want to defy gravity in space.”

She aimed her famous glare at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Not at all. I think it’s poetic. I have no doubt you will achieve everything you set your mind to.”

Kathryn blushed and tried unsuccessfully to hide it behind a long sip of coffee. “What about you, Chakotay? Do you ever think about doing something different?”

Chakotay felt his heart beat faster at the sight of her blushing. “Oh, I’ll be banging the keys for the rest of my life. Actually, though, I’ve been thinking about going back to school, too.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I’ve had really good experiences as a union rep. I’d like to use my negotiating skills to represent my community. They’re especially under-served when it comes to health care. I’d double major in political science and public health, and maybe run for office someday.”

Chakotay had been a representative for the city’s perfomers’ union for about a decade, and had developed a reputation as a good listener and a transparent, above-the-board dealmaker. Both union members and employers respected and liked him. Kathryn remembered how hard he’d had to fight, to the bitter end, to ensure his grandfather got the care he needed. _If anyone can bend the arc of justice, it’s Chakotay_ , she thought to herself.

She gave him a sad, knowing smile. “That’s a noble cause.”

“It’s a personal cause.”

*

One month after their first breakfast encounter at Neelix’s, Chakotay wondered whether Kathryn kept showing up in the morning just for the pleasure of his company. He didn’t want to pry, but one day couldn’t help himself.

“Kathryn, haven’t you gotten your oven replaced yet?”

“Oh, Chakotay, I thought I’d told you. When they pulled the oven out, they discovered the pipes were leaking. My whole kitchen needs to be redone, along with the one in the apartment below mine. Thankfully the insurance company is paying for it. They’re even putting me in a hotel for a week while they saw through the walls and the floor.”

“That’s sounds terrible, especially during a long run like this.” He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let me make you dinner some evening. It kills me that you never eat any home-cooked meals.”

“I’ll have you know my mother is an amazing cook.”

“How often do you get home?”

“Not often enough.” Her hand burned in his. She looked him in the eyes and smiled, assenting to his proposition, which they both knew was about much more than dinner. “All right, I’d enjoy that. Thank you.”

*

On Sunday evening Kathryn arrived at Chakotay’s loft just as the sun had set and was immediately charmed by the space. To the left of his front door was a long wall of bookshelves, musical scores, and LPs that ended at a vintage record console and, naturally, a Steinway dominating the far corner. To the right was a gleaming open kitchen, dining table set with candles, and a sitting area next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the city lights dotted the twilight. A spiral staircase led to the sleeping area above the kitchen. The muted gray and blue hues of the walls and furniture endowed the apartment with a calming effect. Chakotay’s home was a study in contrasts that reminded Kathryn of him: extraordinary but approachable, refined but also comforting, straightforward yet also mysterious.

“This place is amazing.”

“Thank you. I enjoy it.”

She noticed that what she’d taken to be a pattern in the wallpaper was actually a rather thick texture.

“Is this acoustic paneling?” She ran her fingers along it, pressing gently.

“It is. I also had the apartment soundproofed.”

“Impressive!”

“It was a worthwhile investment; at my last place I was afraid the neighbors would petition to have me removed.”

“I wouldn’t mind listening to you play all night long.”

“You already have to listen to me all day.”

“Even still.” He knew from her quiet tone and shy smile that she wasn’t just making conversation. His heart leaped in his chest.

Chakotay kept his promise of an authentic, home-cooked meal. The evening’s menu was inspired by the late spring produce in abundance at the farmer’s market: crushed pea soup, followed by asparagus risotto served with a dry French white wine, and strawberry-rhubarb pie for dessert.

He found it amusing that she took photos of every course. “It’s just dinner, Kathryn.”

“No, Chakotay, this is a dinner to remember.” She looked at him sheepishly. “Do you mind if I post these to my Instagram? It’s important for people to see dancers eating healthily and indulging in dessert.”

He chuckled. “I would be honored.”

When he asked her if she’d like a digestif, she requested a mint tea. He made two and brought them to the coffee table. She was so adorable curled up on his couch, cradling one of his mugs in her hands, as if she were accustomed to taking her tea with him every evening. _How have I never had her over before?_

Her face glowed in the candlelight, loose strands of hair forming an aura around her face. “How did you learn to cook?”

“My grandfather’s appetite wasn’t very good, so I experimented a lot to keep him interested.”

“That makes sense. But enlighten me: you’re such a good cook, why don’t you make breakfast at home instead of going to Neelix’s every day?”

“That’s a good question.” Chakotay blushed briefly. “I started having breakfast out when I was a student and taking care of Grandpa. If I didn’t get out of the house as soon as his caregiver arrived, I’d get caught up on the phone with the insurance company, or Grandpa would ask me to do something, or something would go wrong in the kitchen, or the bathroom. Then I’d be running late, rushing to practice or rehearsal or class all wound up, unable to concentrate. So I learned quickly to get going as soon as possible, go to the gym, shower, grab some breakfast, have some time to myself. Over time, I got used to getting out early in the morning. Sometimes I have lazy mornings at home, but not often.”

An apologetic look came over Kathryn’s face. “I wish you’d told me I was intruding on your alone time.”

Chakotay smiled and took her free hand in his. “You know I would’ve found a way to tell you if I wanted to be alone. I’ve been truly happy to spend this time with you over the last month, Kathryn.”

“As have I.” Her long eyelashes batted involuntarily, and Chakotay longed to erase the remaining distance between them.

He leaned into her and placed a delicate kiss on her lips, one that promised so much more. She put down her tea mug and kissed him back, testing how far that promise would go. Their tongues met and danced together as he ran his hands through her hair and her hands reached under his t-shirt. He tugged it off and she caressed his back, shoulders, and chest, hungry for more.

His arms curled around her torso and he eased her onto her back, hovering over her. She was wearing a sexy wrap dress that brought out the blue of her eyes; he pulled at the belt and bared her lithe body to his view. He ran his hands up her stomach and ribs toward her breasts and as she moaned and pushed into him they both sensed his erection straining against his jeans.

With difficulty, he pulled away and asked, “Would you like to go upstairs?”

“Yes,” she replied in a low voice, her eyes dark with desire.

Kathryn left her dress on the couch and had managed to slide out of her shoes at some point during dinner. Chakotay could hardly believe he was watching Kathryn Janeway pad barefoot in her bra and panties through his apartment. For countless hours his eyes had followed her exquisite body, all long muscles and smooth skin, as he matched his music to her movements. Certainly he’d found her desirable from the beginning, but only now discovered how much he’d repressed that desire in the name of professionalism, and how quickly it was returning with a vengeance.

He led her by the hand up the spiral staircase to the sleeping area. She pulled back the bed covers and climbed in as he shed his shoes and jeans. As he lay atop her, the heat of his bronze skin and the weight of him sent thrills through her body. He helpd her shed her undergarments as his lips and tongue explored her neck and her shoulders. His large, powerful hands moved lower, caressing her stomach, slowly but confidently reaching between her folds, intent on assuring her every pleasure.

It had never occurred to her how flexible a pianist’s fingers could be on a woman’s sex. It felt like he was touching her everywhere at once. He could tell immediately where she was most sensitive, directing his energies there. His perfect mouth, which had made frequent appearances in her recent fantasies, came to suck insistently on one of her nipples, and as his caresses intensified she came with a shout, cradling his head in her hands and bucking against him.

Chakotay pondered how soon he could get her to come again. He lowered his body to position his face between her legs. She was completely waxed there, and he wondered if she did it out of professional necessity or preference. He wanted her to feel how much he enjoyed pressing his mouth against her bare flesh, how intoxicating it was to taste her. His tongue explored her magnificent clitoris as he slid his fingers up and down her smooth folds and then inside her once again as his other hand found its way to her breasts. Before long he was grooving out to the rhythm of licking and stroking her and was almost startled to realize she was shuddering and crying out again, repeating his name as if it were an incantation.

Sucking her juices off his fingers – which drove her wild – he slid up against her, rubbing his hardness against her slick entrance, coating himself with her wetness, amazed that this perfect embodiment of womanhood had found her way into his bed and was now gyrating deliciously, moaning at him to continue. If he wasn’t careful it would all be over too quickly.

He opened a side table drawer and pulled out a condom. She took hold of his arm and spoke gently.

“We don’t have to, I have an IUD. Unless you need to tell me something.”

“No, I’m STI-free. You, too, since you’re offering?”

“Yes.” Her fingertips traced his jawline and she melted under his gaze. “I want you, Chakotay.”

“I want you, Kathryn.”

He pushed into her and she inhaled sharply. She was tight and hot, but soon gave way to the fullness of him, her strong arms around his back pulling him closer. Her hips met his and she adjusted their joining, perfecting their angle, the perfect arches of her feet sliding up his legs until her own legs wrapped tightly around his hips and waist.

And suddenly she flipped them over. He was astounded – he knew she was strong, but he had to be twice her body weight. His hands cupped her ass and she rode him hard until she came yet again, shouting _Yes! Yes! YES!_ at the top of her lungs. Her muscles clenching around him brought him to an almost unbearable ecstasy and he was coming inside her, shouting her name.

Later, his fingers traced random patterns on her body as she lay on her back, eyes closed, emitting a sound between a sigh and a purr. His hand stilled over her heart and she opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, the bold lines of his tattoo inches from her face, his eyes caressing hers.

“I feel like I’ve been falling in love with you for twenty years.”

Her eyes grew wide. “That’s exactly what we’ve been doing, isn’t it? This whole time."


	2. Point of No Return

One morning a few weeks later, Kathryn and Chakotay walked into the studio holding hands. She gave him a chaste kiss before settling into her usual spot at the barre to begin her pre-class stretches. The room went silent for a split second, then rippled with hushed excitement.

B’Elanna strolled over to Kathryn. “Took you guys long enough.” Kathryn blushed and rolled her eyes.

Annika came over, too., “Axum and I would be pleased if you and Chakotay would have dinner with us some time.” Axum was a soloist in the company. He and Annika were childhood sweethearts who’d recently rekindled their romance.

“We’d like that, too, Annika.”

Samantha Wildman, a soloist in the running for principal, joined the huddle. She and Kathryn had developed a close friendship over the last few years, particularly when Kathryn helped Sam through her pregnancy and early motherhood while Sam’s husband was serving in the Air Force overseas. “Kathryn Janeway, I do believe you’re glowing.”

Kathryn blushed harder. “Sam, it’s ninety degrees out. I’m just hot.”

B’Elanna couldn’t help but pipe in, “Chakotay certainly thinks so!” Kathryn swatted her arm.

Sam gave Kathryn a big smile. “Everyone’s happy for the two of you.”

Kathryn finally smiled back. “Thank you. You’re all the sweetest.”

In the meantime, Tom Paris and Harry Kim, another soloist soon to be promoted to principal, had found their way to the piano and were hovering over Chakotay, quietly teasing and congratulating him. Tuvok, their resident Zen Buddhist, continued his stretching routine unfazed by the brouhaha. Finally, Deanna walked in, beaming as she took in the charged energy in the room, casting knowing glances at Kathryn and Chakotay. Somehow, Deanna always knew what people were feeling, often before they knew it themselves. She called out pliés and class began.

Deanna Troi and Reg Barclay were Delta Ballet Theatre’s Ballet Mistress and Ballet Master, respectively. They taught class, ran rehearsals, participated in casting decisions, and meticulously coached the dancers up to and through performance runs. Deanna found their titles anachronistic and sexist, and wanted to change them to “Rehearsal Director,” but Alynna wouldn’t hear of upending tradition. 

Reg and Deanna complemented each other well. Reg, a brilliant choreographer and famous introvert, gave intricate combinations, cerebral corrections, and highly technical notes. Deanna was no less technically proficient, but tended to cue dancers according to the emotions she expected them to evoke in the audience, and in themselves. This class was no exception; she immediately picked up on Chakotay’s newfound joy and, goading him on, channeled it into a lively, fast-paced, exhilarating class. Kathryn didn’t make eye contact with Chakotay any more than she normally would, but she could feel his eyes on her and luxuriated in his silent affection.

During center, Kathryn and Tuvok always led the first group. While they watched the second group race through the Rachmaninoff-fueled pirouette combination, he approached her and neutrally observed, “You and Chakotay created quite a stir this morning.”

“Apparently so.”

“Are you happy, Kathryn?”

“Very.” She couldn’t help her half-smile.

“Then I offer you my sincerest congratulations.” He extended a fist bump, which she heartily returned.

“Thank you, old friend.”

After class, Deanna gave Kathryn a big hug and kisses on both cheeks.

“How did you know?”

“Every morning for weeks now I’ve seen you two lingering over coffee at Neelix’s. That Instagram post praising the dinner he made you was a big clue that you’d taken it to the next level. And I could tell from the energy in the room today that you’d decided to make it public.” Kathryn felt a silly grin coming on and took a long sip from her water bottle to hide it. Deanna put a hand on Kathryn’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Kathryn.”

“Thanks, Deanna, that means a lot to me.”

*

Kathryn and Chakotay enjoyed a halcyon summer. On their off days they went to the movies and for long walks in the park or along the water. He took her to the symphony and she took him to the planetarium. She read him her favorite Irish writers: Joyce, Yeats, and Beckett, and he read to her from his favorite poets: Neruda, e.e. cummings, and Hô Xuân Hu’o’ng, whose erotic poems occasionally preceded Kathryn and Chakotay’s late night bedroom adventures. They alternated evenings in Chakotay’s loft and at Kathryn’s apartment, where the kitchen was finally repaired and Chakotay attempted, and failed, to help Kathryn improve her cooking skills.

The company had August off, and as usual, Kathryn spent it at her mother’s house. This year, however, she brought Chakotay with her. Gretchen Janeway taught mathematics at Alpha University, whose campus anchored the small, charming city an hour away where Kathryn had grown up. Kathryn’s childhood dance teacher also took August off to travel, but lent her studio to Kathryn so she could give herself class every morning. While she was out, Chakotay played Gretchen’s piano, which delighted her to no end. They got along famously, and Chakotay was impressed by Gretchen’s determination and independence in the face of her illness.

The honeymoon phase of Kathryn and Chakotay’s relationship hadn’t worn off yet, and Kathryn was the opposite of shy about having sex in her childhood bedroom. He was tickled by her suddenly silent lovemaking, in great contrast to her wild vocalizations in his soundproofed apartment. When her mom was out and he least expected it, she especially liked to pull down his pants and give him head. So far he’d come in her mouth in the living room, dining room, kitchen, and laundry room.

In addition to her daily class, Kathryn swam or worked out at the gym every day, and Chakotay often accompanied her. He was no slouch – piano was demanding on the body, and fitness was important to him for many reasons – but he wondered whether Kathryn wasn’t being excessive during her month off.

After one especially draining session at the gym, he brought her a glass of wine as she sat soaking in the tub. “I know dancers need to stay in shape even on vacation, but you’ve been working out almost as many hours a day as you do during the season. Don’t you want to take it easy while you can?”

She sipped her wine and stared through the water at her toes. “Normally I would say yes, Chakotay, but I need to be at the top of my game in September when Kashyk arrives. His choreography is brutal on the human body but is also the most innovative work of the century. Working with him is the opportunity of a lifetime. I have to be ready.”

In the eyes of many, Kashyk was the world’s greatest living choreographer. Yet he’d never allowed any of his ballets to be danced by DBT, let alone set a new ballet on the company, all because of a mysterious ongoing feud between him and Alynna. Owen Paris, DBT’s Executive Director and Tom Paris’s father, had somehow brokered a truce, one that hinged on Kashyk’s unfettered access to Kathryn, and the promise that Kashyk and Alynna would never have to be in the same room at the same time. He’d held her in the highest esteem for many years, and their collaboration would be a dream come true for both of them. Chakotay wasn’t the overprotective type, but if Kathryn was already brutalizing herself before Kashyk had even arrived in town, he shuddered to imagine what it would be like once they were in rehearsal.

*

Kashyk appeared at the studio on the company’s first morning back from vacation, intent on watching company class all week to choose the dancers who would serve as Kathryn’s “backdrop,” as he so ungenerously put it.

“Kathryn, my faraway muse, finally standing before me.” He took her in his arms and kissed her ceremoniously on both cheeks.

She beamed at him with pure joy. “It’s an honor to work with you, Kashyk.” 

Whenever DBT went on tour to Devore, Imperium Ballet Theatre’s home city, Kashyk attended Kathryn’s every performance, sent dozens of red roses to her dressing room, and took her to dinner. Kathryn found him obnoxious, egotistical, and patronizing, but also brilliant, captivating, and an incorrigible flirt. He promised her that one day he would find a way through Alynna’s barricade and choreograph his greatest work on her.

And here he finally was, ready to deliver on his promise. He’d titled the ballet _Point of No Return_ , and set it to Tchaikovsky’s Symphony No. 4. All of August, while Kathryn had been whipping herself into shape for Kashyk, Chakotay had been practicing the piano reduction of the orchestral score in preparation for the rehearsals.

On their first day working together, Kashyk held Kathryn’s hands in the center of the studio, and spoke to her in a voice so low Chakotay couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“Kathryn, you embody the perfection every dancer strives toward. But everything you have ever accomplished means nothing now. You must forget it all. You must move as you’ve never moved before. Only then will exceed yourself.”

She trembled in anticipation.

During the first week of rehearsal, they did nothing but vague blocking, only tracing the broadest outlines of what would become her signature movements. At any given moment, Kathryn wasn’t sure how she would move from one position to another. She’d never worked this way before, and had to take it on faith that it would turn out all right.

Over the years she’d collected recordings of all his ballets and interviews. He told her not to rewatch them. “Don’t try to understand what I’m doing now by looking to my past. I have to forget everything to exceed myself, too.” He also told her not to listen to any music and not to read, but only empty her mind, and think nothing. “Only do what I tell you in rehearsal.” Chakotay found it strange that Kathryn, usually so clear-eyed and sharp-witted, seemed to spend the week in a trance.

The real trouble began during the second week of rehearsal.

Kashyk had finally selected two alternating casts of dancers to “accompany” Kathryn. Normally B’Elanna and Annika should have been appointed as alternates for Kathryn’s role, but Kashyk refused to consider any alternates. Chakotay was surprised that no one seemed to object. 

However, it was necessary to select her understudy, and to everyone’s dismay, Kashyk chose Kes Ocampa, a fierce young apprentice to be sure, but one who had just joined the company and had only celebrated her sixteenth birthday the month before. Such a choice was unheard of, and made everyone uncomfortable, especially Kes.

During Kathryn’s rehearsals, Kes stood in the darkest corner of the studio, frantically marking each new block of choreography. Kashyk and Kathryn completely ignored her, as they did Deanna, who sat or stood in the front of the studio, taking notes. Chakotay only received rote acknowledgment from Kashyk when he wanted to start or stop the music.

For hours, Kathryn and Kashyk filled out the movements they’d outlined the week before, focused only on each other. He stopped her periodically to give her direction.

“Tchaikovsky wrote that the second movement expresses the sadness and sweetness of melancholy. When you dance, we must see you remembering all your lost loves, see how it hurts you that you can never return to them again.

“I want to see joy and agony on your face. Always at the same time.

“Show me you remember how beautifully you danced with your lovers, even though now, in your grief, you can barely hold yourself up on your two legs.”

All the witnesses had to admit to themselves that the choreography was incredibly beautiful. It was also clear to everyone that Kashyk was pushing Kathryn to her limit, not only emotionally, by drawing on her tragic romantic history, but also physically.

Halfway through their first full run-through, Kashyk stopped her. She was standing downstage center, en pointe, her arms high in the air, as if her body were somewhere between a question mark and an exclamation point. Kashyk pressed his body against hers and squeezed her butt cheeks so hard she had to come off pointe from the pain. She flushed red but continued dancing.

The next day, when she stopped there, he cupped her breasts, digging his fingers in deep. She flushed again but this time didn’t come off pointe or flinch.

On the third day, he came up behind her, pressed his body flush against hers, grabbed her around the waist from behind, and bit down hard on her neck. She yelped in pain. Chakotay took his hands off the keys and jumped off the piano bench. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, Kathryn held up one hand in his direction, signaling him to retake his seat, which he did.

She then caught Kashyk’s gaze in the mirror, and seethed at him with fury and lust.

He held her close, speaking imperiously. “Yes. Yes! What you’re feeling, thinking, doing now, this is how you must respond to the music. The memory bursts upon the surface of your consciousness, it overwhelms you with elation and pain.”

“I understand,” she whispered, as if she’d just had an epiphany.

He finally let go of her, called out a clipped “Thank you” in Chakotay’s direction, effectively ending rehearsal, and walked out, not giving anyone so much as a farewell glance.

That evening, Chakotay was uncharacteristically silent. After dinner, as they sat sipping tea on his couch, Kathryn put a hand on Chakotay’s shoulder. “We need to talk about this.”

She’d never seen so much anger in his eyes. “Kathryn, I don’t know how you can stand it. He’s been sexually assaulting you all week.”

She smiled gently. “No, Chakotay, it’s not sexual assault. It’s all part of his method. He’s an artist. He’ll go to any extreme to get the effect he wants.”

“What effect is he going for?” Chakotay couldn’t believe he was entertaining a rational explanation for what was clearly abuse.

“He’s trying to make the impossible possible. The _corps_ dances the melody and represents the conscious mind while I dance the counterpoint, representing the unconscious. We’ve all experienced the dissonance of waking up from a dream to realize that the conscious mind has been telling one story while the unconscious tells another. In this ballet, the counterpoint is the emergence of the unconscious into the conscious mind. The choreography calls for my movements to originate in my unconscious. That’s why it’s so difficult physically and emotionally, and why Kashyk can’t direct me using conventional means.”

Chakotay weighed her words for a moment. “I’ll admit that that’s a fascinating method, but Kathryn, sometimes a feel-up is just a feel-up.”

Kathryn ran her fingers comfortingly through his hair. “Don’t be jealous. I don’t believe Kashyk is attracted to me or any woman that way, at least, not anymore.” 

Chakotay stared. “What?”

“Rumors have circulated for years that he’s involved with Prax, the Artistic Director of the Imperium Ballet. They’re both still married to the mothers of their children, but apparently they’re both trapped in loveless marriages.”

As he considered this new information, the anger lingered in his gaze. “I don’t care if he’s gay, straight, both, or neither. No one should touch anyone that way, unless they consent to it first.”

Kathryn pouted and straddled Chakotay. “Would you like to show me how I should be touched?”

His hands came to her waist and his gaze softened. “Promise me you’ll draw the line–”

“If I feel uncomfortable? Or if you do?”

“If you do, of course.”

“I promise.”

She brought her mouth down to his and for the rest of the night their only thoughts were of each other.

*

As September progressed, the sun set earlier and earlier, but summer’s humid heat lingered during the daylight hours. Chakotay noticed Kathryn becoming distant, suffused in the melancholy mood she was meant to inhabit during her second movement solo. Even though they were almost always together, Chakotay found that he missed her.

One day, she seemed to have snapped out of it. As they were waiting for Kashyk to appear in the studio and begin rehearsal, Kathryn sat next to Chakotay on the piano bench while he was practicing some phrasing, and put her arm around his waist.

“Thank you for being patient with me. I know I’ve been quiet lately.”

He continued playing, but looked up at her, smiling. 

She continued, “This ballet has been a struggle. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before. But I know what I have to do now, and it feels really good.”

“That’s wonderful.” He stopped playing and gave her a long kiss.

Just as they were pulling apart, Kashyk walked into the studio with an unreadable look on his face. He said nothing, however, and rehearsal began as usual.

The next day, when Kathryn walked into the rehearsal studio, she found Mike Ayala, another company pianist, at the piano.

“Hi, Mike. Where’d Chakotay go?”

“He’s playing another rehearsal.”

“That’s odd.”

“I thought so, too, but we go where they send us.”

Kathryn learned later that Kashyk had confirmed her and Chakotay’s relationship status with Deanna, then had her tell Alynna that Chakotay could no longer play Kathryn’s rehearsals because he was “distracting” her. A few days later, Kashyk found out that Mike was Chakotay’s best friend and he, too, was banned from playing Kathryn’s rehearsals, which would be accompanied from now on by a recording.

Kashyk told her, “We should have done this from the beginning. You must listen to the singular quality of all the instruments, especially the winds, and respond uniquely to each one when you dance.”

Kathryn came clean to Chakotay about the reason for the changes a few days later, as they were walking hand-in-hand back to her apartment from the company studios.

He was furious. “I would understand if he didn’t like Mike’s or my interpretation of the music, but his decision obviously has nothing to do with that. It’s jealous, possessive behavior, and it’s inappropriate.”

“Kashyk’s totally within his rights to change his mind. He requires absolute concentration. And he’s right: how can I conjure my pain at lost loves when the love of my life is in the same room with me?”

Chakotay smiled and squeezed her hand. “I take your point, and it’s romantic of you to put it that way.” They walked a bit further and his anger returned. “I just can’t believe he told that you don’t know how to listen to the music, that you’ve been taking it for granted. I don’t care who he is; where does he get off telling one of the world’s greatest ballerinas that she’s been doing everything all wrong her whole life?”

Kathryn knew Kashyk’s remark about her relationship to music felt like a personal blow to Chakotay, but wanted fervently for him to understand her point of view. “It’s refreshing to work with a choreographer who’s not afraid to challenge me.”

It took all of Chakotay’s willpower to suppress the acerbic retort at the tip of his tongue, but he’d already decided not to let that creep of a choreographer ruin his relationship with the love of his life. “Kathryn, let’s have fun tonight. Let’s go on a dinner cruise. Let’s get out on the water, and leave the city and all the melancholy behind for the evening.”

“I’d love that.” She pulled on his hand to stop him and kissed him deeply in the middle of the sidewalk. Passersby smiled and children pointed at them in glee, but they were too engrossed in each other to notice anyone else.

*

They’d arrived at the last day of private rehearsals; the following week, Kathryn would begin rehearsing with the _corps_. It was a cloudy, stuffy day, but once in a while the late afternoon sun burst through and cast long shadows in the studio.

Deanna and Reg were busy running other rehearsals, so Kathryn was alone with Kashyk. He’d placed the second movement at the end of the ballet, which made Kathryn nervous, as she’d be tired going into it after having danced the other three movements. That day he made her run through her solo five times, only to become less satisfied with her performance each time. His voice took on louder and rougher edges, and his corrections devolved into complaints.

Kathryn, the consummate professional, nodded when he spoke and tried to do everything as he told her to, but she was fuming inside. It seemed that no matter what she did, she was always in the wrong . She couldn’t shake the feeling that his boorishness had nothing to do with the way she was dancing, but she couldn’t fathom what else it would be about.

After the last run-through, he sat in silence for a long time, then all but screamed at her, “You think you’re giving all of yourself to your audience, but you’re not! You’re still holding back! You’re holding back from me!”

Kathryn was bent over in the middle of the studio, drenched in sweat, too exhausted to even look up at him. She waited for her breathing to settle before she replied, her low voice wavering between rage and defeat, “I’m giving you everything. All of me. Every single time. There’ll be nothing left of me after this.”

The unreadable look came over his face again.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What?”

“You’re going to dance this movement nude. It’s the only way this is going to work.”

She straightened up slowly, hands on her hips, and directed the deathliest death glare of her life at him. Then she stormed out of the studio and marched right into Alynna’s office.

“Alynna!”

Alynna put her hand over the mouthpiece of her phone.

“Kathryn, what are you doing here? I’m talking to a board member.”

“I don’t give a shit what you’re doing. We need to talk right now.”

“All right, sit down.” She called her assistant to bring Kathryn a glass of water and made excuses to the person on the other end of the line.

Alynna sat down on her couch next to Kathryn. Her brightest star sighed heavily. “He wants me to dance nude.”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“He made the decision out of the blue just now and expects me to strip for him immediately.”

“I thought he was your dream choreographer and that you’d do anything for him. Besides, you’ve danced partially and fully nude before.”

“Yes, but normally choreographers tell us in advance that’s what they want. And they explain why. And they take the time to build trust with us and let us take our time making our decision. And we sign consent forms.” Kathryn stared at Alynna, hardly believing she had to spell it out for her. “He’s always trying to get a rise out of me, but this time he crossed a line. “

“You knew very well what it would be like to work with him.”

“Yes, I knew he would push me, and I welcomed it. But this is too much. To throw this at me after hours of his merciless invectives. I feel violated.”

“You haven’t even taken your clothes off yet.” Kathryn glared at Alynna, but she continued. “You’ve lived your whole life in leotards and tights, the thinnest possible pieces of fabric separating your skin from the rest of the world. What’s the difference?”

Kathryn raised her voice in anger. “Alynna, there is a very big difference between dancing in skin-tight clothing and dancing nude and you know it.”

“Calm down, Kathryn.”

“You have to talk to him.”

“That would only make it worse.”

“I’ve never asked you for anything.”

“Except for Kashyk. For the chance to work with a power-hungry megalomaniac. Do you really think I or anyone else can control him?” Kathryn startled at Alynna’s vehemence.

Alynna recovered herself, put a hand on Kathryn’s shoulder, and looked into her eyes. “Do you want this ballet?”

“More than anything.”

“Then you know what you have to do. You know this is his method. And it’s obviously working.”

“I know.” Kathryn fought the urge to throw her water glass against the window. “All right, I’ll do it. If Deanna is in the room.”

“Fine. I’ll get her.”

Alynna dismissed Deanna’s rehearsal and spoke to her briefly. Minutes later, Deanna found Kashyk outside on the sidewalk, puffing on his e-cigarette, a blank look on his face.

“She’ll do it, but only if I’m in the room with you.”

He rolled his eyes at her and went back inside.

Kathryn emerged from the dressing room in a robe and pointe shoes. Deanna closed and locked the door to the studio and lowered the window shades. Kathryn took off the robe and moved to her starting mark, noting that Kashyk’s face remained unreadable as the music began.

She felt his eyes boring into her and refused to return his gaze. It occurred to her that everything about this ballet was a violation: not only the choreography, which felt like it was tearing her muscles apart, but Kashyk’s insistence that she draw on her most painful memories, his demand that she give herself completely over to the role and leave nothing left for herself. In fact, taking off her clothes was nothing compared to laying her soul bare to him, to the audience. Kathryn realized Kashyk was right: she was indeed holding back. She didn’t want to give all of herself to him, to the ballet. She wanted some small part of herself left over for herself – and for Chakotay – at the end of the day.

And then she decided to let go. To see if she could really lose herself completely, truly pass the point of no return. It was terrifying and glorious.

Toward the end, her eyes met Kashyk’s, coincidentally. A smile or smirk seemed to be curling at his lips. Was he finally pleased with her performance, or was he simply leering at her? Were they really engaged in an artistic partnership, or was he objectifying her? If her decades of experience hadn’t automatically propelled her onward, the uncertainty would’ve been paralyzing.

When it was over, she found her way over to the barre, toweled off, and gulped down half her water bottle. She couldn’t look at him again. She wondered if the few minutes when she’d abandoned herself had been enough to pass whatever test this was, or if the moment she’d snapped out of it had consigned her to automatic failure.

Kashyk stared into the distance. The third movement began, its lighthearted pizzicato jarring against the room’s bruised mood. Finally he turned off the music and spoke quietly. “I don’t know.”

Deanna turned to him, dialing down the contempt in her voice. “About the dancing or about the nudity?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes searched the room. Suddenly he jumped out of his seat. “You!” he cried, pointing wildly at Kes, who was cowering in the back of the room. Kathryn and Deanna hadn’t even noticed she’d been there the whole time.

Deanna put her hand on his arm, restraining him. “What do you think you’re doing, Kashyk? She’s been confined to that corner for weeks. You’ve never given her a chance to try it in front of you. And now you’re going to make her do it for the first time with her clothes off?”

“I can do it,” Kes offered.

Kashyk approached her and grabbed her face by her chin. He towered over her, a giant contemplating a child’s life in his hands. “My god, your voice. It’s liquid sex. I must choreograph something on you, to your voice. And to Mahler.” He pulled the remote control for the sound system out of his pocket and tapped her shoulder with it. “But let us return to the task at hand.”

Kathryn put her robe back on as Kes shimmied out of her leotard and tights.

She knew the choreography inside out. It looked very different on a sixteen year old, yet she’d clearly had her own catastrophic losses and was pulling them out of her depths with unparalleled pathos. Kathryn was loath to imagine what had happened to make it so. In many ways, Kes was wise beyond her years and made an even more tragic figure than Kathryn ever could. She was sure that she’d just been proven a failure and that Kashyk was about reassign the ballet to Kes.

He stopped the music a third of the way through.

“No, it won’t work. Forget it.” He walked over to Kathryn and seized her arm. “Get it together, Kathryn. We don’t have a lot of time.” He exited the studio without a backward glance.

Kathryn walked over to Kes, who’d pulled on some warm-up coveralls.

“I’m sorry, Kes.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. For what it’s worth, you did great.”

Kes’s eyes were soft and luminous. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, coming from you. But it’s your ballet. It will always be your ballet.”

Kathryn sighed and put a hand on Kes’ shoulder. “No, Kes. Ballets belong to everyone,” she said, even as she felt relieved that Kashyk hadn’t taken it away from her.

Deanna approached them, her eyes a combination of anger, contrition, and concern. “Maybe we should all get some coffee.”

Kathryn looked at Kes, who’d gone pale and was subtly shaking her head. “I think we should all just go home, Deanna.”

“All right.” She placed a gentle hand on each of them. “I’ll talk to him. He won’t pull anything like this again.”

Kathryn nodded outwardly, though inwardly she doubted Deanna could get through to him.

*

When Kathryn arrived at his apartment that evening, Chakotay immediately sensed that something was wrong. He made her favorite dish, vegetable biryani, and tried to draw her out all through dinner. Finally she said she really didn’t want to talk about it, but he reminded her that they’d agreed they weren’t going to keep things from each other, so it all came tumbling out. His reaction was par for the course.

“First he sexually assaults you–“

“I thought we talked about that–”

“Then he throws your boyfriend out of studio, and now he’s making you and Kes strip for him. This is strike three, Kathryn.”

“It’s nothing of the sort. He was right. I was holding back. He was an asshole about proving it to me, but it worked.” She looked Chakotay straight in the eye. “I didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.”

“I’m not. I’m the speak out against abuse type.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s like I’m in ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ Everyone thinks Kashyk is God’s gift to the universe. He reminds me of Jev.”

Kathryn looked into the distance, trying to place the name. “I remember him. The conducting professor at the Conservatory who was caught sexually abusing his students.”

“Yes, there was a veritable cult around him for years until the first accusations came out, and then they flooded in.”

“This is nothing like that. Kashyk’s not abusive, he’s just intense, he’s an absolutist. It’s his way or no way.”

“He’s playing crazy power games with you, Kathryn. He probably gets off on it.”

“I’ll admit that working with him has been more unpleasant than I’d anticipated. Perhaps if I were younger the drama of it all would be more appealing. But as low as I felt today, I can’t say I regret it. And I’m still totally enamored of his ballet.”

Chakotay sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be deterred, and stood to clear the table.

As they settled into bed, Chakotay’s arms wrapped snugly around her, Kathryn kept her lingering uneasiness to herself. She hadn’t told Chakotay that Kashyk was known for breaking ballerinas the world over. Some of them, like Alynna, refused to work with him ever again. Some of them would take a year off afterward; some even retired early. But for most ballerinas, working with him was a turning point, and their careers soared to new heights. Kathryn didn’t need a turning point, she was about to retire. But she didn’t want to let go of her dream, of what she’d always imagined would be the crowning achievement of her career. _He’s not going to break me. I don’t break._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a letter to his patron, Nadezhda von Meck, to whom Symphony No. 4 is dedicated, Tchaikovsky wrote, “The second movement of the symphony expresses another aspect of sadness. This is that melancholy feeling which comes in the evening when, weary from one's toil, one sits alone with a book — but it falls from the hand. There come a whole host of memories. It is sad that so much is now in the past, albeit pleasant to recall one's youth. Both regretting the past, and yet not wishing to begin life over again. Life is wearisome. It is pleasant to rest and look around. Memories abound! Happy moments when the young blood boiled, and life was satisfying. There are also painful memories, irreconcilable losses. All this is now somewhere far distant. It is both sad, yet somehow sweet to be immersed in the past...”  
> (source: [Tchaikovsky Research, Symphony No. 4)](http://en.tchaikovsky-research.net/pages/Symphony_No._4#Composition)


	3. Climax

During the remainder of the rehearsal period, Kashyk’s delight in Kathryn’s dancing waxed and waned. No matter how professionally she behaved outwardly, inwardly she continued to ride the vertiginous emotional roller coaster he’d so precisely tailored to push her to the brink of insanity. She held firm, but was becoming impatient for the performances to begin and free her from this living hell.

October brought wind, rain, and damp falling leaves. The melancholy weather suited Kathryn’s second movement solo, but she barely had time to notice as she schlepped to and from the theater during the week before performances began.

They made it through dress rehearsal. Kashyk dismissed the company and the orchestra at the normal hour, but insisted on keeping Kathryn as he still wasn’t satisfied with her interpretations of several passages. It was technically a violation of union regulations to make dancers work overtime, and Deanna told him so, but Kathryn agreed to stay. She knew it was another test, and that she had to respond professionally as always. A few hours later, he finally seemed content, even pleased, and bid her goodnight with kisses to both cheeks.

Back in her dressing room, Kathryn extricated herself from her costume, headpiece, and pointe shoes, and pulled on her robe. She stared into the mirror at her stage makeup, thinking she looked rather the worse for wear, but no matter, she’d catch a rideshare and be soaking in Chakotay’s tub in about twenty minutes.

There was a soft knock at her door. “Kathryn, it’s me.”

“Come in, Naomi.”

The young woman gave her a worried, harried look. “Kashyk says he needs to speak to you. He says it’s urgent.”

Kathryn took a deep breath to contain her exasperation. “All right. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute. Go home, Naomi. We’ve been here twelve hours today.”

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good night.”

Kathryn checked her phone to see if Chakotay had texted her. He was at home that evening, giving lessons. He’d tried to call her at 9pm and then had left a text.

_You must still be in rehearsal. I hope it’s going well. I’m done with students for the evening. Come over whenever. Love, C._

She put the phone down in the corner of her vanity and tapped the microphone icon so she could record a voice-to-text message and take off her makeup at the same time. She was going to let Chakotay know that she’d let herself in with her key, and tell him not to wait up for her. But before she could open her mouth to speak, Kashyk opened and closed her dressing room door and leaned against it, ire in his eyes.

“You’ve been holding back from me, Kathryn. I want all of you.”

She sighed in exasperation, meeting his eyes in her mirror. “Kashyk. It’s midnight. Please, I’m exhausted. What more of myself can I possibly give you now?”

He moved toward her. “You know exactly what you can give me.”

Towering over her small frame, he tore her robe off and twisted her arms behind her, gripping them tightly in one hand while cupping her chin in the other. His legs pressed hers against the vanity, trapping her. He continued to hold her terrified eyes in the mirror and she finally understood that unreadable look that came over his face so often when watching her dance: it was simultaneous lust and contempt.

“You know I’ve wanted you for years. And I know you want the same thing.”

“No, I don’t. And I’m in a relationship.”

“With that pianist? Oh, please.”

“Kashyk, let me go. Stop this.”

“You know you want me.”

“What about Prax? How can you betray him?”

“Prax and I have an open relationship.” His fingers came down around her neck and his teeth sank into her shoulder. “I must have you. Or else Kes will open tomorrow and you’ll never dance this ballet. Ever.”

Kathryn had taken plenty of self-defense classes. She knew exactly what she needed to do physically to get out of this situation, but it didn’t matter. He was sexually blackmailing her, and he was going to win. This was the true price of the ballet. She’d thought everything else – the whole roller coaster – had been the price, but it was only the wild ride leading to true hell on earth. She was furious with herself that she hadn’t seen this coming, or perhaps she had and had simply denied it out of covetousness and ambition. She understood everything now: the broken ballerinas, the hushed tones they used to speak of him, the shame in their eyes. Everyone knew, but kept silent so that careers could move forward.

His free hand had moved down to clutch her breasts, one after another. Kathryn winced in pain and thought again about moving to stop him, then thought about how it would damage the company’s reputation, let alone her own, if she did. She and Kashyk had been interviewed in _Dance Magazine_ , featured on several arts channels and the national and local news, and the brief rehearsals clips they’d leaked had gone viral on social media. To defy him now could set a public relations disaster in motion. And more importantly, so many people’s livelihoods were riding on their upcoming performances: the company, orchestra, stage crew, and theater staff. Alynna would never let Kes dance the lead; it would be a financial catastrophe if she did. Kathryn had to rise above this violation. It was the sacrifice she had to make for the good of the company. _The show must go on._

Hoping the end would come quickly, Kathryn looked away from the mirror and closed her eyes.

“Watch us, Kathryn.”

“No.”

He whacked her butt cheeks and she felt a rush of wetness between her legs. She’d read that this sometimes happened to women during assault. It wasn’t a sign of arousal, but rather the body protecting itself from upcoming injury. But she knew he would interpret it as her consent.

His fingers found their way between her folds. “Ah, I always knew you’d want me.”

“I don’t. You’re wrong.”

“I’m never wrong.”

She heard him unzipping his fly and pushing his pants down. He penetrated her quickly and brutally and she was sure he was tearing her insides apart. She clenched her jaw, held back her tears, and tried not to notice the nausea welling up.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, he brought his free hand around her neck and steadily applied pressure until he was half-choking her.

_Not this. Don’t take this away from me._

Her memories of Justin rushed to the surface. They’d met as exchange students at the School of the Cardassian Ballet and one day he’d singled-handedly saved her from three ruffians who’d cornered her in a dressing room, taking turns holding her down and having their way with her. Kathryn and Justin flew back to the Conservatory two days later. They refused to explain their hasty mid-semester return – Kathryn couldn’t bring herself to file an official report – so everyone chalked it up to homesickness, no questions asked.

When they started dating, she asked Justin to be rough with her, to restrain her, to test her limits further and further. At first, for both of them, it was about replaying the traumatic situation and regaining a sense of control. Then it took on a life of its own: they took turns playing dom and sub, perfecting their techniques and their razor-sharp knowledge of each other’s edges. It was their delicious secret garden. After he died, she was devastated on many levels, and vowed in particular never to rough play again with anyone else.

But with Chakotay, she was changing her mind about that decision. She hadn’t explicitly brought up the possibility with him, and it hadn’t come up spontaneously. Their relationship was still new, and she’d hoped he’d be willing. But now, she feared she was ruined for life. _After everything I’ve been through, I can’t believe I let this happen to me again_.*

While Kashyk was brutalizing her, she didn’t want to think about Chakotay, but couldn’t help imagining him restraining her, choking her. Her train of thought turned her on, and she felt herself orgasm in spite of her fear. Kashyk shouted and pulled out, coming all over her ass while hot tears of shame and self-disgust streamed down her face.

“You wanted this. I felt it.”

 _No_ , she screamed in her mind. _Get out!_ She lay there, slumped over her vanity, defeated in body and soul, eyes still closed, willing him to leave with the last of her forces.

“This is what you’ve really wanted all along. Now we’ll see how you dance tomorrow night.”

*

Sometime later, she realized she was alone again. Kashyk had rushed out moments after hastily tucking himself back into his pants. She’d sunk to the floor, bruised, torn, bleeding, destroyed.

“Kathryn!”

The last thing Kathryn wanted to hear in that moment was Alynna’s voice.

“Kathryn, the custodian called to complain that you two were still – ”

Alynna opened the door and immediately understood what had happened, her cold eyes wavering between pity and disgust.

“So he got to you, too.”

Kathryn’s eyes widened in horror. _Had he done the same thing to Alynna?_

“Maybe now you’ll learn to be careful what you wish for.”

Kathryn opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Alynna looked away, ice in her voice. “Clean yourself up. You have a big night tomorrow. The company’s reputation is riding on it.” She left, slamming the door behind her.

*

Not really thinking things through, Kathryn found a hand towel, wiped herself off, found a plastic bag in a drawer, put the towel in the plastic bag, knotted it, and, stuffed it into the bottom of her enormous shoulder bag.

She picked up her phone and realized it had been recording for the last twenty minutes. She quickly cut the recording out of her and Chakotay’s text thread and pasted it into an email to herself. And then she finally texted Chakotay.

_Today was rough. I should just go home._

_Do you want me to come over to your place?_

_It’s so late. Not worth it._

_Are you ok?_

_Y_ _es. Just tired. Don’t worry. I’ll see you tomorrow._

_All right. Rest well. I love you._

_I_ _love you._

She took photos of the contusions on her neck, wrists, hips, legs, and thighs, using the mirror when necessary, then got dressed, and covered up the visible bruises with makeup.

The rest of the night was a haze. She somehow made it to her apartment and took a long, hot shower, wincing when the water made contact with her open wounds. She still felt dirty afterward, and didn’t want to get into her bed. Instead, she lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling for hours, until sleep finally overtook her.

*

The next morning, Kathryn went into survival mode. She texted Chakotay that she wouldn’t be able to meet him at Neelix’s for breakfast, then spent an inordinate amount of time covering her bruises and the dark circles under her eyes with sweat-proof concealer.

She made it to the theater just in time for Reg’s class, weakly smiling hello at Chakotay from across the room. He approached her afterward, crouching down beside her on the floor, where she was sorting through pairs of pointe shoes. His eyes were kind and slightly concerned.

“Were you able to rest?”

“Yes.” She looked back down at her shoes, unable to hold his gaze.

“He kept you a long time.”

“You know Kashyk, the perfectionist’s perfectionist.” She wondered how much bitterness he could hear in her voice.

“I missed you last night.”

“I missed you, too.” It came out automatically, before Kathryn could decide if she meant it or not.

He leaned in for a kiss, and Kathryn felt nothing. _Because I’m damaged, or because I don’t want to?_

“I’ll let you do what you need to do. I’ll be with your mom and sister in the audience tonight, and bring them back to the green room afterward.”

“Okay, thank you.” She focused on lining up her pointe shoes from most to least worn out, unable to bring herself to act naturally and give him a hug and another kiss. As he walked away, she felt his eyes lingering on her.

*

Kathryn was rehearsal-free that afternoon, but Naomi reminded her of her appointment with Joe Zimmerman, the company’s massage therapist. With the demands that Kashyk’s choreography put on her body, Kathryn had had almost daily appointments with Joe during the rehearsal period. She credited him with keeping her injury-free.

He gave her a quick smile and a pat on the shoulder when she entered the treatment room.

“Excited for your big night?”

“Looking forward to getting it over with, to be honest.”

Joe frowned, thinking that she didn’t sound like the Kathryn he knew, but didn’t want to say anything that might throw her off her game that evening.

He stepped out to let her get undressed and under the sheets. For a moment, Kathryn froze and considered walking out. Then she realized she’d never get through the evening’s performance without a treatment. She took deep breaths, tried to think peaceful thoughts, and managed not to flinch when Joe entered the room and put his hands on her back.

He knew well where she stored her tension and went about releasing her knots, one by one. She relaxed and even fell asleep for a while, unaware that the massage oil was removing all the concealer she’d so carefully applied.

Afterward, she got dressed and Joe came back into the treatment room with a bottle of water for her.

“How are you feeling?”

“Never better. Thank you, always.”

“You’re welcome.” A serious look came over his face. “Kathryn, I noticed a lot of contusions today that weren’t there yesterday.”

She sighed and closed her eyes.

“In my experience, such bruising patterns are not usually due to choreography.”

“Your point, Joe?”

“Did you consent to receiving these injuries?”

“I’m not interested in having this conversation.”

“I need you to tell me that you gave Chakotay your consent–”

That earned him a classic Janeway glare. “Chakotay wouldn’t lay a hand on a fly.”

He spoke slowly, surprised at her anger. “I know that. But –”

Kathryn cut him off. “I wasn’t with Chakotay last night.”

Joe’s eyes widened. “Did someone else do this to you? Without your consent?”

“I’m not talking about it anymore.”

“Kathryn, I’m legally obligated to report any signs of assault.”

Kathryn pictured Alynna’s cold eyes boring into her. “Go ahead, report all you want. It’s not going to make a damn difference.” She stormed out.

*

Naomi told her the house was full. Kathryn fretted that she didn’t know where Kashyk would be sitting. Normally, choreographers sat next to Alynna in the tenth row, dead center. Since the two of them were staying as far away from each other as possible, he could be sitting anywhere. Kathryn wasn’t sure whether she wanted to know so she could look for him or avoid him. She almost thought of asking Naomi to find out but changed her mind, determined to take back her sanity.

_He hasn’t done anything to me that hasn’t been done before._

But he had. The mind games. The controlling. The unrelenting challenges to her worldview. He wanted to own her, as if she were something he created, part of his ballet, nonexistent outside of it.

_Fuck him. It’s my ballet now. I’m going to dance it exactly the way I think it should be danced._

*

Afterward, receiving the audience’s standing ovation and repeated curtain calls, Kathryn wondered whether she’d really acted of her own free will. Was her performance truly an expression of her artistic vision of the role, or did she dance it exactly the way he wanted her to? Was her rebellion all part of his plan? She couldn’t pinpoint where her agency began and ended anymore.

She’d no sooner arrived at her dressing room than Naomi informed her of the queue of well-wishers forming in the green room. Kathryn toweled off and went to meet them.

The first to greet her, to her surprise, was Jake Sisko, the city’s foremost dance critic. He shook her hand almost violently, exclaiming, “Kathryn, I have to rush off to file my review, but I couldn’t leave without telling you that I feel blessed to have witnessed your greatest triumph.”

As she thanked him, she felt a migraine coming on.

T’Pel, Tuvok’s wife and the city’s most successful black woman hedge fund executive, was there with her and Tuvok’s four children. Kathryn reflected that she’d never seen the couple publicly exchange any affection, but those four children were their biggest tell.

Their youngest, seven-year old Imani, presented Kathryn with a bouquet of white roses and declared, “You were amazing tonight. I want to be just like you when I grow up.”

Kathryn knelt down to embrace her and forced down the bile coming up her throat.

T’Pel herded the children to find Tuvok, and Kathryn was greeted by her mother and sister beaming at her, more bouquets in two.

“You were wonderful, Katie.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“That was impressive, Katie. I’ve never seen anything like that before. What kind of choreographer is that guy, anyway?”

“You can’t imagine, Phoebe.”

Kathryn tried smiling sincerely at them, but immediately knew it didn’t work when they exchanged a worried glance.

Chakotay rescued her from their imminent inquisition with a dozen red roses and his voice low in her ear. “Congratulations. You were ravishing tonight. I’ll never forget this performance.”

“That makes two of us.” They both laughed at that.

Gretchen and Phoebe turned back to them, arm-in-arm, and Gretchen linked her free arm with Chakotay’s.

“We’ll let you get ready for the reception.”

“All right, Mom, I’ll see you all there.”

Kathryn showered quickly, zipped herself into her evening gown, stuffed her swollen feet into a pair of stilettos, and considered that she might not be able to physically or emotionally stand another moment of her life. Then her practical side snapped into action: she texted Chakotay to come back and help her walk to the reception, and busied herself applying more concealer to her bruises while she waited for him.

When they arrived, Kathryn was grateful for the low light in the room and felt her headache dissipating. She found it fascinating that Kashyk and Alynna had each staked out a space as far away from each other as possible, and decided to set herself up in a corner equidistant from both of them. _And now our triangle of deception is complete_. She wondered how many other dancers had had to endure similar evenings. _World premiere my ass_ , she laughed bitterly to herself. _It’s the end of the world as I know it_.

Her training and experience kicked in and she graciously received congratulations from several company members and their plus ones, as well as a decent smattering of donors and board members. She kept her nausea down but couldn’t bring herself to touch the copious appetizers floating about, and held on to the same glass of champagne until Chakotay, reading her mind, switched it out for a sparkling water.

Kathryn also held on to Chakotay the whole evening, which seemed to please him immensely. She’d told him that her feet were painful and that it was hard to stand in her shoes, and in the beginning that was true, but after a while they were as numb as the rest of her. She couldn’t even tell anymore whether Chakotay’s arm around her waist felt good.

He put a fresh glass of champagne in her hand as Alynna began the obligatory toast.

“To the unforgettable pairing of the one and only Kashyk and the indomitable Kathryn Janeway. Tonight, Delta Ballet Theatre has truly passed the _Point of No Return_!” An approving murmur rose as crystal clinked and hands applauded.

Kashyk caught Kathryn’s eye. His mouth was smiling, but in his eyes she only saw contempt.

At home, Kathryn stayed in the bathtub until she could hear Chakotay gently snoring in her bedroom, then made a makeshift bed for herself on the couch. In the morning she told him her muscles were spasming and she’d been afraid of waking him up throughout the night.

*

After opening weekend, Kashyk whisked himself off to another city, another company, another ballerina to be broken. He didn’t given Kathryn notes, didn’t congratulate her on the opening night performance or any subsequent performances, didn’t even speak to her once. It was as if she’d been a pawn in his game of choreographic conquest: he’d used her up and she’d been banished from the board forever.

Kathryn felt panicked through the whole run, though she made several efforts to make her life more bearable.

First, after opening weekend, she switched to a different dressing room. No one understood why, she’d had the same dressing room since she made principal and everyone agreed it was the best one, but no one gave her a hard time about the change.

She also stationed Naomi at her door with the express instruction not to let anyone in or out without checking with her first. And they made sure to keep the door locked when she wasn’t there. She told Naomi that some jewelry had gone missing on opening night, and the theater manager had opened an investigation but, of course, no clues had turned up.

Kathryn’s one piece of good news was that she’d managed to get anonymously tested for STIs and everything came back negative.

But she was afraid to take the subway or walk in the street at night, petrified that a tall man might sneak up behind her and attack. It made her angry: with all her confidence, street smarts, and self-defense training she’d always felt safe in the city. Now it felt like even that foundational fact of her existence had been taken away from her.

Every few days, she begged Alynna to give her a reprieve by assigning the matinées to Kes. Alynna refused, more vehemently each time. “People are paying their money to see _you_ , Kathryn. The company needs this cash cow. This is what you wanted, this is what you agreed to. It’s in your contract. Stop harassing me.”

But really, the worst part was that she couldn’t bring herself to be intimate with Chakotay. They still spent almost every night together, but she insisted on sleeping on the couch, due to her ongoing muscle spasms and increasingly frequent nightmares. She blamed them both on the ballet, and she wasn’t entirely incorrect.

Finally, one morning at Neelix’s, about halfway through the month-long run, Chakotay tried to talk with her. He whispered, “Kathryn, we haven’t made love in quite a while. You hardly ever even let me touch you. Are you not attracted to me anymore?”

“Of course I am. This is just an exceptionally taxing ballet. It’s affecting my libido. Maybe I’m getting old.”

“You’re kidding, right? We were romping around like teenagers until a few weeks ago.” He searched her with his eyes. “Please, tell me: Am I doing something wrong?”

“No. You’re perfect.”

“Do you still love me?”

She sat quietly for a long time. When she spoke, her voice was even and cold. “I don’t think I’m cut out for love, Chakotay. I’m just going to destroy you. You should get away from me.”

Chakotay was shocked by her virulence and hurt that she didn’t reaffirm her love for him. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

“I’m not trying to push you away. I’m trying to be truthful. This role I’m dancing, it’s taking everything out of me. Or maybe it’s helping me realize there was never anything there in the first place.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I didn’t know how to move my body before. I didn’t know how to listen to music. I’ve been listening to you, to all music, all wrong. I didn’t really know how to share myself with the audience before. I have to rethink everything, redo everything in my life.”

“I think you’re taking your commitment to this ballet too far.”

“I haven’t taken it far enough.” She looked him in the eye. “I thought you, of all people, would understand what it means to me.”

He looked truly frightened. “Maybe I don’t. Or maybe Mark was right: maybe there’s no room for anything in your life but your art. Or anyone.”

Kathryn said nothing and stared at the floor, wishing it would swallow her.

Chakotay spoke gently. “Maybe we need to take a break.”

“Whatever you want.”

His voice cracked. “Kathryn, you’re breaking my heart.”

“This is nothing. It’s only going to get worse. Get out now, while you can.”

He got up, paid their bill at the counter, and walked out the door, staring at her in shock. She looked up to see him looking away, and could have sworn she saw tears in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I would never condone the assertion that anyone “lets” a rape happen to themselves. I included this sentence, however, to capture one among many possible thoughts that might be going through a person’s mind as she’s trying to survive.


	4. Counterpoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one line (you’ll know it when you see it) that should not be read as a dig at Deanna’s counseling skills, but rather as an in-joke, included due to the nature of her character in this A/U.

Once the _Point of No Return_ performances were over, Kathryn went home to her mother’s for a week to recover, spending inordinate amounts of time in the jacuzzi. November brought _Nutcracker_ rehearsals, and Kathryn and Chakotay’s breakup became evident to everyone. They wouldn’t talk to each other. They wouldn’t even look at each other. Chakotay only played melancholy music in minor tones, and Kathryn alternated between silent rage and depression. No one had any idea why the company’s favorite new couple was suddenly no longer a couple, but everyone was tense, walking on tenterhooks around them. Deanna looked permanently exasperated, and Reg was so nervous he started stuttering again. B’Elanna, who was good friends with both Kathryn and Chakotay, offered to mediate, but they both said no and refused to discuss the matter with her at all, so she threw up her hands.

Kathryn’s nightmares and insomnia only intensified, and her appetite disappeared. She’d come to associate enjoying food with being with Chakotay, and since she blamed herself for their breakup, she felt she didn’t deserve to eat anymore. Conceding to the demands of her profession, however, she forced protein shakes down her throat so she’d have a minimum of strength to get through each day.

The worst were the flashbacks, which always happened at the most inconvenient times, especially when her partners stood behind her, or approached her from behind for lifts. It was so dangerous to break concentration at those crucial partnering moments, and, terrified she was going to cause an accident, Kathryn only piled more guilt onto herself every time she froze.

Alynna sat in on a few rehearsals and immediately picked up on everyone’s bad vibes. She yelled at the dancers, reminding them that their familiar, not overly demanding holiday roles were a luxury, and implored them to set a better example for all the Delta Ballet Theatre School children who would be joining them in the performances.

She also took Kathryn aside, seizing her arm and cupping her chin. “Get it together, Kathryn. You’re the captain of this ship. If you go down, they all go down.”

After that, Deanna started taking Kathryn to dinner. They mostly sat in silence, but Deanna wouldn’t let her leave until she’d eaten her fair share. Then Deanna started alternating with Sam, who brought her daughter, and then sometimes Tom and B’Elanna took her out, with Kathryn’s goddaughter Miral in tow. Kathryn’s pout had become a permanent facial feature, but at least she was eating one solid meal a day, and sometimes the children’s presence cheered her up. Sam also convinced Kathryn to ask her doctor for something to help her sleep, which reduced the nightmares.

The week before the company moved back to the theater, Chakotay seemed to want to speak to Kathryn again. He tried to approach her in the studio after class, and the hallway, and the street, but she always walked away from him.

Finally he texted her that his agent had booked him a last-minute European concert tour for all of December and January, adding that she could still contact him by text or phone anytime, and that he hoped she would. She started texting him “Break a leg,” then erased it and spent the weekend holed up in her apartment, making her way through a bottle of whiskey.

All the accompanists in town had already been engaged elsewhere for the holiday season. At the last minute, Deanna convinced her husband, Will Riker, to fill in for Chakotay. Will, a successful composer for television and film, had played piano for the company years before, when Deanna was still dancing. On his first day back, he obsessively accompanied class with jazzy versions of Christmas songs. The company loved it, and before long they were back to their old selves, laughing and joking around.

Kathryn couldn’t stand Will’s playing, and his boisterous, macho personality had annoyed her ever since he’d tried – and failed – to date her at the Conservatory, but she tried to see his good sides, for Deanna’s sake.

And she tried to keep her fury, despair, and loneliness to herself. She realized she’d felt better sulking about Chakotay when he was still around. It felt like he’d abandoned her, even though she was the one who had pushed him away.

Once performances began, Kathryn rotated through the Snow Queen and Sugar Plum roles with several other principals. Though she was grateful for her lighter schedule after the _Point of No Return_ marathon, the holiday season itself posed a major challenge. Watching all the families in and out of the theater enjoying the festivities, she regretted that she and Chakotay would not be together for Christmas and New Year’s. She was all but certain that he’d booked the tour to get some distance from her, and it broke her heart.

*

Breaking tradition, Kathryn opted not to return to her mother’s house during the company’s January break. Sequestered in her apartment, not leaving for days at a time, she fixated on the recording, dying to know what it had captured, but absolutely unwilling and unable to listen to it.

Time dragged on, and finally the last Friday in January arrived. After the weekend, rehearsals would begin for their spring run, and Kathryn needed to break out of her torpor. She tried writing in her journal.

_I don’t know if I can dance anymore._

_I don’t know if I want to live anymore._

_Can I be sure of anything?_

_There’s got to be something I’m sure of._

_I DIDN’T WANT THAT._

_That’s a start._

_But there’s got to be more to me than not wanting to be raped._

_Who am I? What do I want?_

Then the sentences poured out.

_I want to dance until_ I _decide I’m done dancing._

_I want to go back to school._

_I want the flashbacks to stop._

_I want to sleep through the night, in my bed, nightmare-free._

_I want to enjoy eating food again._

_I want Chakotay back, if he’ll have me._

_What do I need so I can have what I want?_

She paused, then put her pen to paper again, pressing firmly.

_I need to know if the recording worked._

_I need to feel safe._

Kathryn picked up her phone and called Deanna.

*

An hour later, Deanna arrived at Kathryn’s apartment bearing two mocha lattes. They sat on the couch.

Kathryn stared into her coffee, speaking slowly. “After the _Point_ dress rehearsal, Kashyk confronted me in my dressing room when only the two of us were left in the theater. He restrained my arms and pinned down my legs, and told me if he didn’t have his way with me the ballet was off. He kept telling me I wanted him, but I didn’t, and I told him to stop. I kept telling him to stop and he wouldn’t.”

She looked up. Deanna’s eyes were wide, and she looked like she’d stopped breathing. “I’m so sorry, Kathryn.”

Kathryn continued. “My phone recorded it, by accident. I have a towel in a plastic bag I’ve kept at the bottom of my bag for the last three months. I have photos of the cuts and bruises he left on me. And I can probably get Joe’s eyewitness account of what I looked like the day afterward.” Tears streaked down her face. “I’ve been holding on to the recording for three months. I can’t bring myself to listen to it.”

Deanna spoke in soothing tones. “Kathryn, I can only imagine what you’ve been through. It took a lot of courage to call me, and to tell me what happened.”

“After the last time, I always said I would get a rape kit done. But I couldn’t go to the ER right the night before the opening. Honestly, even if it were any old night, I don’t know if I could’ve gone. I don’t know if I could’ve reported it right away. But now I need to report it. I won’t be able to move on until I do.”

Deanna hadn’t known that there’d been a previous time, but didn’t press Kathryn. “I understand why you were reluctant to go that night. It can feel invasive talking to strangers, and the backlog of thousands of untested rape kits can make the whole process seem futile from the beginning.” Deanna wanted to pat Kathryn’s hand reassuringly, but held back, just in case she wasn’t ready to be touched yet. “You know, you probably have enough evidence to bring a case without the recording.”

“That occurred to me, too, but if it worked, then it should be evidence.” She faced Deanna, a plea in her eyes. “I need you to listen to it. I need to know that it worked.”

“Okay. But I want you to know that I believe you. I’ll listen to the recording, but I don’t need to listen to it to believe you. “

“I appreciate that, but it’s been tormenting me for months. I need to know.”

Deanna put her earbuds into Kathryn’s phone. Kathryn hit play, went into her bedroom, sat on the floor to do some stretches and light core work, and tried to think of nothing.

Twenty minutes later, Deanna appeared in her doorway, sobbing.

“I’m so sorry. Whatever you need. Just say the word.”

Kathryn stood up. “I need to make this right.”

“Okay.”

“You didn’t mention that Alynna came to see you right afterward.”

“Ah, yes.” Kathryn shook her head at the memory of Alynna’s heartlessness. “I know what I have to do. Will you help me?”

“In every way I can.” Deanna paused. “Does Chakotay know?”

“No. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him. I pushed him away, instead.”

Deanna’s saw Kathryn and Chakotay’s distance over the past few months with new eyes. “He’ll understand.”

“I hope so. I hope he’ll forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

*

_Chakotay, I need to talk to you. It’s a union matter, and it’s delicate. Could I come by your place this evening?_

_Of course, Deanna. I’ll be home by 6. You remember where it is?_

_Yes. Thanks, and see you soon._

When Chakotay opened the door to both Deanna and Kathryn, his only response was stunned silence. Deanna walked right in, Kathryn following. He recovered himself, shut the door, and observed that Kathryn was even thinner than usual. “Coffee?”

“Whiskey,” Kathryn said blankly.

Deanna piped in. “Make that two.”

Both eyebrows raised, Chakotay poured three whiskeys, and brought them to the dining table, where he sat at the head, Deanna to his right where Kathryn normally sat, and Kathryn on the other side of Deanna.

To her credit, Deanna summarized what had happened to Kathryn with the most succinct and least triggering words possible. Kathryn stared at the center of the table, unmoving.

As she spoke, Deanna watched Chakotay’s jaw, then fists, then his whole body tense up. When she finished, he looked away from them, out the windows, growling, “I’m going to kill him.”

Deanna put a hand on his arm. “She doesn’t need you to kill him. She needs you to call the union attorney and the public relations director. She needs you to work with the fewest, most effective, and most discreet people you can find to create a strategy that will guarantee all the necessary outcomes. She needs you to make sure he never does this to her or to anyone else ever again.”

Chakotay continued staring out the window, but he took a few deep breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was even. “All right. I can do that.”

“There’s more.”

He turned back to her, eyes widening. “I’m listening.”

“Alynna came in afterward, figured out what happened, and told Kathryn to get over it. Made no move to help her. And everything she said is also on the recording.”

The growl came back. “That psychobitch.”

Deanna’s hand gripped his arm more firmly. There’s more.”

“Okay.”

“Kathryn doesn’t want you to listen to the recording.”

“Okay.” He didn’t think he could stand to listen to it, anyway.

Deanna asked Chakotay to describe what they should expect from the process. Kathryn recognized their names of the union attorney and publicist he mentioned, and was comforted to realize they were not only familiar but trustworthy people. He also brought up the probability that an investigator would be involved. He described the legal and media strategies they would most likely propose, and the pros and cons of each one. _How does he know exactly what to do? What other untoward situations has he had to untangle in the past?_ He suggested that he might be able to convene everyone for an emergency meeting right away. Kathryn nodded to Deanna.

Chakotay finally looked at Kathryn. “I’m so sorry, Kathryn.”

Kathryn still couldn’t bring herself to look at him, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face again. Deanna offered her some tissues.

The crisis response team, as Kathryn learned they were called, arrived at Chakotay’s apartment relatively quickly. Chakotay and Deanna did most of the talking; Kathryn filled in whenever she could. The team spent a great deal of time informing Kathryn about her options, and suggested that she take her time deciding what she wanted to do, but she’d already made up her mind, so a strategy came together quickly.

Finally, they asked to listen to the recording. Chakotay offered, “I’m going to go by the store. Why don’t the two of you take a walk around the neighborhood? They’ll text us when it’s all right to come back.”

“Okay,” Deanna answered for Kathryn and herself.

A few blocks into their walk, Deanna turned to Kathryn. “How are you doing?”

“I’m still pretty numb. But deep down I think there’s a part of me that’s feeling a little better.”

“Good.”

“That went really well.”

“Yes, it did.”

“Chakotay is a good man.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Whatever there is between you, it’s not over. It’s worth trying again.”

“I know.”

“Do you think you might want to talk to him one-on-one today?”

“Maybe.” They walked a little further. “No, I mean, yes. Yes, I want to talk to him alone, if he’ll talk to me.”

When they returned, the team did their best to mask their stricken looks. They confirmed their next steps and everyone’s preferred modes of communication and left as quickly as they had appeared.

Chakotay, Deanna, and Kathryn remained seated at the dining room table, in their original seats. Deanna cut through the silence first. “I’m going out in the hall for a little bit so you two can talk.”

“Deanna–” they said simultaneously.

“Kathryn, you can come get me whenever you want.”

*

“Kathryn, please forgive me. I should’ve realized what had happened.”

“You must have thought I was crazy.”

“Not at all. I should’ve seen the signs. Dammit, I saw the signs, but I allowed myself to believe they were just symptoms of a dysfunctional and perverse artistic collaboration. I didn’t want to believe what I should have seen in front of my eyes because it was too horrible to contemplate.”

“I wish I could say that I wanted to tell you. But I didn’t. I wish it had never happened. I hoped I would never, ever have to tell you.”

“I understand. It’s your story to tell to whomever you want, whenever you want, however you want.”

At that, the ice in Kathryn’s heart melted just enough for her to notice.

He tried again to make eye contact with her, to no avail. “Have you talked to anyone?”

“I talked to Deanna.”

“I’m talking about a professional. I mean, Deanna is super-empathetic, but she’s not a trained therapist.” He took out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “I know someone you can trust. She’s specializes in this.... area.”

“How do you know her?”

“I’m sorry to say this isn’t the first rape case I’ve handled as a union rep.”

Kathryn brought her hand to her mouth. Chakotay immediately regretted bringing it up, and put his phone face down on the table. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to put anything else on you right now. I want to support you however I can.”

“I appreciate that. I think it would help me a lot right now if we could change the subject.”

“Okay.”

“How was your tour?”

“It was good. Except that I missed you.”

She finally looked at him, but only for a second. “I missed you, too.”

Chakotay couldn’t hold back anymore. “Kathryn, I still love you. I haven’t stopped loving you for a second.”

“I love you, too, Chakotay. I’m just... I’m just having a hard time feeling things right now.”

“Give it time.” He dared to smile at her.

“Could I stay with you tonight?”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’d love for you to stay.”

“I don’t know how soon I’m going to be able to...” She trailed off.

“Let’s not worry about that. We’ll give it time.”

“I’ll go tell Deanna she can go home.”

*

“I want to sleep in bed with you, but I’m not ready to be touched.”

“Okay.” He made sure not to cross over to her side of the bed.

When he woke up the next morning, she was fast asleep, spooning him from behind, her arm around his waist.

*

As the weeks went on, the crisis response team collected and verified evidence for Kathryn’s case. Then they moved on to investigating other assaults. The scope of their work widened to an international level and involved crisis teams around the world. It wasn’t anything Kathryn hadn’t expected, but it was still horrifying to witness the pieces of the enormous puzzle coming together in real time.

The company was relieved to discover that Kathryn and Chakotay were back together. They were rehearsing _Giselle_ and a slate of contemporary ballets: challenging roles, but nothing Kathryn couldn’t handle with her usual aplomb, especially now that the flashbacks had dwindled. She and Chakotay stayed out of Alynna’s way, and Alynna appeared to be doing the same.

Kathryn met regularly with the therapist Chakotay had recommended, and her sessions were going well. In Chakotay’s company, Kathryn became tentatively adventurous again. They went for long walks in the evening, rode the subway, and talked freely about their feelings. She practically moved in with him, only going home once a week to do laundry, check her mail, and water her plants.

“Do you mind that I’m here every night? For three months I only left my apartment to go to work and pick up food. It’s helpful to have the change of scenery.”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m really happy you’re here.”

She became a fixture on his couch in the evenings after dinner, sewing the ribbons into her pointe shoes as they drank their herbal tea and listened to the classical radio station or selections from his vast record collection. He was over the moon to have her back in his life, and his initial fear, that she would disappear at a moment’s notice, lessened a bit each day.

And little by little, she came back to him. Their fingertips touched when he handed her coffee in the morning. Sometimes he made her laugh and she held on to his arm to steady herself. One day she reached out to hold his hand as they walked to work, and didn’t let go until they made it inside. She didn’t want to make a big deal of Valentine’s Day, but he made her a seven course meal and she rewarded him with a hug and a kiss on his cheek. He blushed.

One evening, he had some news for her. “It turns out Joe did file a report, but it went nowhere because he didn’t know the name of the assailant. He said you were adamant I hadn’t done it. And he was very concerned that you were in shock.”

“I shut him down. I’ve never once been cross with him, not in all these years.”

“I’m sure he understood.”

Later, in bed, she whispered, “I never thanked you.”

“For what?”

“For holding me up all through the opening night reception. Thank you. I couldn’t have made it through without you.”

“Of course.”

“And thank you for seeing the investigation through, and for knowing exactly what to do, and when to bring it up, and when to let us just be ourselves in our relationship. I know this can’t be easy on you.”

“Don’t mention it. What else would I do?”

She rolled to her side, her body flush against his. He was instantly hard.

“I want you tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“We can take it slow. And stop at any time.”

“I know.”

Her fingers traced the features of his face, and she leaned over to kiss him. His lips were soft and his mouth tasted sweet and minty, like his toothpaste. Their tongues met and she felt all the blood in her body rush to her throbbing core.

She felt his arms on her back, embracing her, their legs entwined, his erection pressing through their pajamas against her hip bone. It felt so right to be with him again.

His hand moved under her shirt to cup her breast, his thumb stroked her nipple, and her breath caught in pleasure. She pulled off her pajamas and he did the same, and she moved his hands down the sides of her body, inviting him to touch her. He gasped when he discovered she was dripping wet.

They lay on their sides and, with one hand on her breast and the other at her center, he touched her, gently and slowly at first, circling her clit, dipping his fingers into her. He watched her intently for any sign to stop, but she lay there contentedly, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself, the other grasping the pillow above her head. She was so beautiful, her breathing labored, punctuated with small gasps of surprise. Her eyes never left his as he made her come.

She immediately started sobbing. “Oh, God, you’re so, so good to me. I’ve missed you.”

He teared up as well, and pulled her into him, her sobs reverberating against his chest. “I’ve missed you, too.”

Once their tears abated, she rolled on top of him, her hand stroking its way down his body, until she could grasp the full, hard length of him in her hand. He inhaled deeply as she stroked him. Taking deep breaths, her eyes locked with his, she lowered herself onto him ever so slowly. Halfway there, she began crying again, silently.

“Are you ok?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you want to stop?”

“Oh, no.”

Once she’d taken him all the way in, she reveled in the fullness of him inside her, and in her overflowing wetness coating him as he moved in and out of her. Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, her taut nipples poking him, her legs locked around his, her skin blazing at his touch. She inhaled the scent of him, cinnamon and warm spices, and ran her fingers through his hair. Being with Chakotay reignited all her desires. _I chose_ _him. This feels like heaven. This is what it feels like when you choose._

He placed his hands on her shoulders, slid them down her back until he gripped her perfect buttocks just the way he knew she liked it. They were at one with the rhythm of their bodies. As they picked up the pace, she sat up, enlacing her fingers through his. She used their connection as leverage to push against his thrusts, their eyes locked in a loving gaze. Before long, she was practically leaping off him, breasts bouncing, hair flying, head thrown back in ecstasy. She came with a shout, pulsing powerfully around him, and he followed her, his liquid heat spurting deep into her core.

She fell into his arms, her cheek on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and riding the rise and fall of his breath. When she woke the next morning, she realized she’d let him hold her all night.

*

Their subsequent forays back into sex didn’t always go as smoothly as the first time, but in their view every attempt was a cause for celebration. One weekend, Kathryn invited Chakotay back to her apartment with her. She even managed to pull off a ribolittà and salad without damaging her kitchen.

As they pulled back her bed covers, Kathryn confessed, “I haven’t slept in my bed since before that night. I was afraid of having nightmares about it and didn’t want him in my bed.”

“You’re not having nightmares anymore, are you?”

“Not really, though it’ll never not be a possibility. But I want to take my bed back. With you.”

They stripped off their pajamas and practically dove in.

He saw desire and a plea in her eyes. “Please don’t be gentle with me tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want you to be rough.”

“Okay.” He only looked about half-okay with it, though. “What’s our safe word?”

“How about ‘stop’ ?”

He chuckled. “That works.”

He bit her lower lip – not hard enough to draw blood, but almost. She gasped in thrilled surprise. He bit gently, then harder, all the way down her body, and nibbled gently on her folds and her clit. When she called out for more, he bit harder, jabbing two fingers in and out of her, a third finger pressing steadily into the pucker underneath. One hand still firmly clasping her breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling the nipple, she began moaning loud and deep like a wild animal in heat. Had she completely forgotten her apartment was not soundproofed like his? It made him so hard to hear her scream. He wanted the whole building to hear him make her come.

When she’d recovered, she pushed him onto his back and took the smooth, throbbing length of him into her hot, wet mouth. Swirling her tongue around him, cupping his balls in one hand, she stroked the base of his cock while her mouth bobbed up and down, stopping only once to grab his hands and put them on her head, directing him to shove himself into her at his leisure. She’d never been so intense, bordering on violent, and he felt himself responding all too quickly.

“Wait, Kathryn, please...”

He pulled her up to him and threw her onto her back.

“Kathryn, I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

“I want you to beg me,” he taunted her, hovering his erection just outside her entrance.

“Please, Chakotay. Please, I need you inside me. I need you to pin me down and fuck me until I can’t see straight” she wailed.

Pinning her wrists above her head, he felt himself grow even harder. He took her up on the invitation and fucked her so hard he was anxious they might break the bed. Her breath caught in her throat and he worried she was frightened.

Just when he thought she was going to use the safe word, she commanded, “Put one of your hands around my neck.” She took his hand and showed him where she wanted it. “Now squeeze progressively harder.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been so sure in my life. I want this. I want you.”

He started fucking her again, hard and deep, and the frightened look on her face morphed into an ecstatic trance. Her whole body started convulsing and he felt her inner walls taking him with her. He let go of her, pounding into her until he came, his chest heaving, his heart racing. 

He lay down next to her on the bed, willing his body to calm down. Taking the reins like that had turned him on more than he’d expected. He’d never seen her so wild and free as when she was coming under his steady grip on her neck.

He eyed her carefully. “How was that?”

She gave him a lascivious smile. “It was fucking hot.” At that, his erection returned and she raised her eyebrows at him. “Wanna go again?”

He smiled and rolled on top of her.

*

After that, they returned to alternating nights at each other’s apartments. One morning they woke up to the sun streaming in the windows and spring giving way to summer.

“Happy Birthday, Kathryn.” He kissed her eyelids and she pulled herself deeper into his embrace.

“Thank you, my love.”

His phone buzzed and he gave it a quick glance. “Tomorrow’s a go.”

When she opened her eyes, they were bright with mischief. “That’s the second best birthday present I can think of.”

“What’s the very best birthday present?”

She grinned and held him close. “You, of course.”


	5. Duck Pond

Kathryn authored an op-ed about Kashyk’s assault that appeared simultaneously with fifteen others by female and male principal dancers in twelve cities across ten countries. After that, dozens more accusations came out. At DBT alone, Kashyk had also raped Kes, assaulted Sam, and harassed B’Elanna and Annika. None of them would have spoken out if Kathryn and her peers hadn’t first.

Days later, Kashyk was arrested in the country where he was working at the time. He was quickly tried and convicted, and was now serving a lengthy prison sentence. It was unlikely that in his lifetime he’d be extradited to all the countries where he was wanted. Though Kathryn and the other survivors were relieved that he was under lock and key, some were finding it difficult to make peace with the probability that their own due processes might never take place.

Kathryn’s op-ed also included an indictment of Alynna’s complicity in Kashyk’s behavior. Following that, more accounts of Alynna’s abuse surfaced from current and former DBT dancers. The Board immediately forced Alynna to resign, and Tuvok, B’Elanna, Tom, and Annika took over as interim co-artistic directors.

The ballet world went on a rampage to dismantle the abusive patriarchal structures on which it had relied since its inception. After decades of stagnation, real efforts were finally underway to train and promote more women and persons of color as choreographers and directors, and to create cultures of empowerment and consent in ballet companies and schools.

The beginning of Delta Ballet Theatre’s next season reflected these changes. All four interim co-artistic directors were enrolled in a choreographer training program. Harry, Sam, Axum were promoted to principal status. Axum was assigned to partner Annika, so Tuvok was free to partner Kathryn on a regular basis. This pleased her enormously; he’d been her very first partner, and he’d be her last. The most surprising and delightful development was that Kes was accepted into the same choreographer training program that the principals were attending.

Most importantly, the Board brought in Afsarah Eden as the new Artistic Director. Conservatory-trained like so many of the company’s dancers, she’d had an illustrious career with a rival company, where she’d been repeatedly praised as the most genetically perfect and artistically exquisite dancer ever to grace planet Earth. After retirement some years ago, she’d become a well-respected choreographer and was known for bringing out the best in her dancers. She was also now training to be a dance historian and Delta Ballet Theatre history was one of her specialties. Kathryn had always admired Afsarah, and in many ways she was exactly the right person to take the reins during this transitional moment. For her own part, Kathryn was thrilled to be departing the company on a high note and proud of her not-insignificant role ushering in these positive changes.

*

Kathryn and Chakotay sat in their booth at Neelix’s. After he cleared their breakfast, Neelix came back to their table bearing a coffee-flavored cupcake topped by a candle. She silently made a wish and blew it out.

“Promise me you won’t be a stranger, Kathryn.”

“I promise, Neelix.”

That evening, she was giving her farewell performance. She’d chosen _The Red Shoes_ , a ballet based on the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen and the 1948 Powell and Pressburger film. Chakotay would sit at the piano with the orchestra that evening.

His eyebrows had shot up when he first read the description of the fairy tale, whose plot the ballet took as its own:

_It’s the story of a girl who’s devoured by an ambition to dance in a pair of red shoes. She gets the shoes, goes to the dance, and at first all is well, she’s very happy. At the end of the evening, she gets tired and wants to go home. But the red shoes are not tired. In fact, the red shoes are never tired. They dance her out into the streets, they dance her out into the mountains and valleys, through fields and forests, through night and day. Time rushes by, love rushes by, life rushes by. But the red shoes dance on. In the end, she dies._

Kathryn teased him, “Yes, Chakotay, the heroine dies, but at the end of the evening I get to take off the red shoes.”

He thought she looked radiant this morning, her hair even redder than usual for the role. She’d seemed relaxed and content for weeks. So why was she suddenly pouting at her coffee mug?

“Penny for your thoughts, birthday girl.”

“I’m wondering if I’m going to feel closure after tonight.”

“Closure about your career?”

“That, and everything that happened last year.”

He chose his next words cautiously. “Are you still hankering for a confrontation?”

“I don’t know. In a way, I’m grateful that we don’t have to have one. Neither option appealed to me. They say that the rape trial can be a “second rape”: you have to relive the trauma in front of the judge, the jury, the perpetrator, and everyone sitting in court. And the restorative justice approach doesn’t always work, either. The perpetrator has to agree to participate and acknowledge his wrongdoing, and I don’t see Kashyk ever doing either one.” She sighed and Chakotay placed a comforting hand over hers.

“The morning my op-ed was published, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. But now I’m an international spokesperson for rape survivors. I’m happy to do it, and I’m grateful that it’s brought more positive attention to my dance career instead of detracting from it. But having this new responsibility means I think about it more than I would prefer. I’ll be glad to be in school full-time in the fall and have a good excuse to turn down any additional interviews.”

“Maybe it would also help you reach closure if the Board would finally decide to strike _Point of No Return_ from the company’s repertoire,” Chakotay offered.

“I actually hope they don’t.”

“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

Kathyrn’s arms gesticulated widely. “What kind of precedent does that set? Do we ban all artworks by all artists who’ve assaulted their subordinates? Think of all the filmmakers and producers alone whose abuses have come to light in the last few years. Do we erase from history all the work of the casts and crews of the films? _Point of No Return_ was a huge investment for the company, not just the dancers who had to learn the choreography, but the set and costume designers, videographers, archivists. It’s not just his ballet, it’s the company’s.” 

“In my view, support for works of art by known abusers implies that their abuses were legitimate in some way, that the means justified the ends.”

“I understand that point of view, but I think we need to be willing to entertain a more complex relationship to the legacies of abusive artists, at least on a case-by-case basis. I can’t imagine ever dancing _Point of No Return_ again personally, but I’m not ready to say that this company shouldn’t dance it again or that no other company should dance it. In fact, knowledge of the conditions of its production could inform how dancers perform it and how audiences see it. Presented carefully, it could become part of a critical conversation on the injustices of its historical moment.”

Chakotay silently lamented that her pout hadn’t budged a millimeter. “We don’t have to talk about any of this today.”

“I don’t mind. The fact that I _can_ talk about it today, or any day, is a huge victory.” Their fingers interlaced over the table, and she finally smiled at him, eyes bright. She looked delicate and even fragile under Neelix’s garish neon lights, but Chakotay knew he’d never met a stronger person in his life.

*

Kathryn and Chakotay spent the summer house-hunting. They’d both been accepted at Alpha University and were relieved to confirm that their general education and elective credits would transfer from the Conservatory, so they’d both graduate in two years. But they were set on making a longer-term move because Kathryn was hoping to stay at Alpha to do her double doctorate, and Chakotay could easily take the commuter train to the city. Plus, they were hoping to start a family.

Their excitable real estate agent gave off a simultaneously smarmy and sincere vibe. Kathryn considered him their lucky charm, not only because her mother guaranteed he was the best in town, but because his name was “Quark.” “That bodes well for a future astrophysicist,” she mused.

He’d shown them dozens of houses over the last few weeks and they worried they were starting to wear him out. Finally, he pulled up to a large white house on a particularly charming street. “I know the two of you are going to love this one.”

Indeed, the house boasted spacious interiors, the right number of bedrooms and bathrooms, and an alcove that would be perfect for Chakotay’s piano. After the tour, Quark left them on the back deck while he took a phone call.

“Kathryn, this is our house.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Look,” he pointed in the distance.

Behind the house, there was quite a bit of land that came with the property. Right before the forest line, she saw what he was looking at: a small duck pond.

She laughed out loud, remembering their first breakfast together at Neelix’s. _Was that only two years ago? It feels like a lifetime_.

“You’re right. It’s perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the fairy tale “The Red Shoes” is spoken by Lermontov (Anton Walbrook) in the 1948 Powell and Pressburger film of the same title.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me through this oddball story. I know some of you were hoping for a blowout confrontation; I hope you’re not terribly disappointed. I wanted to represent the reality that many survivors never get the chance to achieve full closure in the presence of their perpetrators, and have to find ways to move forward on their own. In any case, Kashyk’s punished more in this story than he is in the episode: Kathryn gets him at his own game, but the ending suggests he’ll continue perpetrating his destruction of telepathic species. It’s such a good episode – I can never get enough Counterpoint fic!


End file.
